


An insignificant Life

by shuuki



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Background Les Amis de l'ABC, Gen, On The Barricade, Pre-Barricade, Revolution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-02-28 18:17:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13277166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shuuki/pseuds/shuuki
Summary: "Mademoiselle, tell me, what do you think of revolution? "This, my first fan-fiction, is about a girl named Yvette, who lives her unfortunate life in Paris. She meets the friends of the ABC whose dream of freedom captivates her.It is originally written in German and now translated to English.





	1. Prologue - View of a nocturnal City

**Author's Note:**

> Hello dear reader,  
> Today I publish the prologue to my first fanfiction.  
> I originally wrote it in German and now translate it into English.

**Prologue - View of a nocturnal City**

It had been one of those days again. Wet. Cold. Hopeless. Now it was coming to an end, and the dreary gray of the day passed into the deep black of the night. The lanterns in the streets of Paris were lit and the frost turned the floor into a torrent of glittering diamonds that seemed to lie between the stones.

On such a winter night, the streets were almost deserted. Rarely did one see a lonely figure walking the streets and they fast disappeared in an invitingly lit entrance to a residential building or a tavern.

But in the late days of 1831 there were also people without a roof over their heads, who wandered lonely through the alleys of  Paris and hoped for a miracle. Many of these lonely souls had already sought a corner to protect themselves from the wind and frost, some of them would not survive this night. But that was part of it. A natural selection, which took place more and more frequently in winter due to increasingly adverse conditions. The stiff bodies that sat in the corners in the morning, or lay there in a crouched posture. One would think that they’d get up at any moment and leave. At dawn, the gravediggers with the body cart came by and gathered the bodies of all those who had not came through the night. These poor souls. And now, once again, one of those bitter nights had dawned, which would certainly demand some more lifes.

Now if you looked down into the streets of Paris, you could see a young woman, wrapped her coat tightly around the body, which went along the Seine and crossed a bridge. She seemed to have no destination and her gait was shambling. On closer inspection, this could be attributed to the wine bottle in her hand. She obviously had drunk. This stupid girl. To err alone and drunk through the nocturnal streets. There’re certainly wiser things. But if she had been told that, she would’ve smiled tiredly and made it clear that she did not care at all.

This young woman, dear reader, will be the heroine of our story. Even if it did not seem that way  if one looked down that night at the girl who was so lost in Paris.

Her name is Yvette and that's her story.  
  



	2. Chapter 1 - The painful love of Wine

**Chapter 1 - The painful love of Wine**  
  
She crossed two more bridges and walked through several streets before taking the last sip from her bottle. Even though it was terribly cold, the wine still warmed her from the inside, her cheeks were flushed and her ears were glowing.

Yve had drunk the whole bottle alone and was meanwhile straying aimlessly through the city. The wine had barely made an impact half an hour before, but now it struck with the force of a cannon-ball. For the first time in more than an hour, she looked up from the floor and studied the buildings around her. She stood in the middle of a crossroads and the streets around her were deserted. As she glanced toward the upper floors of the residential buildings, she felt that the houses began to move around her. She felt dizzy, so she lowered her eyes to the ground again and closed them. After a short while the world stopped to turn around her and she could open her eyes again. She felt that her skull was swollen and threatened to burst with every movement.

  
She should not have been drinking the wine. The bottle of cheap booze had cost her almost a whole franc. She would have been able to eat 3 days of the money. But she wanted to drown her grief.  
She had never drank such quantities of wine before, and resolved not to do it again so soon, but it had served its purpose. She could barely think straight. She just couldn't handle this bastard.  She decided to take a few more steps. But that turned out to be more difficult than expected. She followed one of the streets and turned a corner. Behind it were more residential buildings and at the other end seemed to be a tavern or a cafe. The building was brightly lit inside and all sorts of sounds leak outside. She took a few steps toward it and remained undecided in front of the opposite wall of the house.

Through the high, glazed door, she could catch a glimpse of the guest room. It was well filled. It seemed to be mainly students sitting around inside the building talking, celebrating and discussing. She couldn't see more through the grid of the door. Yvette slowly sank down the wall of the building. Her knees had given in as if they were made of butter. She remained sitting on the cold pavement, wrapping her arms around her knees, listening to the muffled voices coming from the building. Slowly her head dropped onto her knees and her eyes fell shut.

So she sat for a while in the shadow of the building and dawned, when suddenly the door opened loud and a few young men came loudly roaring and jeering stormed into the street. Startled, Yve raised her head and saw six young men standing in front of her on the street. Probably students. One of them had grabbed another by the collar and apparently tried to push him to the ground. They were beating themselves in the best manner.

  
"Come on R!", "You'll just grab it!", "What's that supposed to be?", "You can do better, Bahorel!"  
With these shouts, the other four gentlemen encouraged the two combatants. Yve watched the two who wedged together, rolling on the floor. One had black, curly hair, a white, stained shirt and a light blue vest over it. He didn't wear a jacket, but Yvette suspected that he had left it behind in the heat of the moment. An aquamarine blue neckerchief fluttered around his neck and seemed to have been untied. His opponent had dark blond, straight hair that fell in strands across his face and wore a shirt, a brown vest and a green jacket with a round badge in the colors of the French flag. Around his neck as well, was a neckerchief of bright yellow color, which was well-bound and still sat in its place. He had also worn a cap that had slipped off his head during the fight.

  
She was glad that she was not noticed by the students, who were all busy with the brawl. You did not have to see her like that. Drank drunk and stiff, she gave a miserable sight. They did not have to see her like that. Drunk and frozen stiff,she was a pitiful sight.  
  
"Stop it! Apart! "Sounded a firm, almost imperious voice.  
When Yve looked up again to find the author of the voice. The student, who had stepped out to the other six young men, immediately jumped in the eye. He was not to be overlooked and stood out from the others, if only because of his sublime attitude and keen eye.

His bright red jacket, who had one of those round badges on the collar like the other student, and his bright blond hair stung out of the darkened area and made him shine. As soon as he was coming towards the group, the students scattered like street boys when an inspector of the police approached. The two fighters, wrestling knotted on the ground, reacted too late. They were dragged apart by him at the collars.  
"What's this for a circus? You are no longer children and I am not your nurse, " he began angrily. The gentlemen straightened their shirts and jackets and looked embarrassed down on the floor.  
"Enjolras ..." He was interrupted by the dark-haired of the two fighters he had just turned his back on. Furious, he turned to face him and spoke in a voice that sounded as if he was about to lose his temper: "What, Grantaire? What do you want to tell me? That I should calm down? That everything is not so bad? I can tell you ... "He stopped and took a deep breath. The gentleman whom he had addressed as Grantaire took a sip from a wine bottle he held in his hand and lowered his head again.  
Yve was startled. Where did he get the wine from so sudden? Before she could get to the bottom of this question, this Enjolras opened his mouth again and continued in a calm, composed voice, "How do you ever want to change this world, if you can not even manage an evening without antics? I want you to stop acting like children. That only harms our cause! " He looked at the gentlemen in turn, "And now go back inside before you freeze here," he said, smiling. But the smile was bitter and did not reach his eyes.  
  
One by one the students trudged back into the tavern. Enjolras waited and then, unnoticed, grabbed Grantaire by the arm and held him back. He swayed a bit, turned and looked at his counterpart. There was a trace of guilt in his eyes, but it was quickly driven away by a cynical struggle. The gentlemen seemed close, but something was wrong. Grantaire took the floor, "What is it, Enjolras? Do you want to scold me? Or exclude me from your little circle? Go ahead! " it seemed he wanted to provoke his opponent and he was successful. Yve could not see Enjolras' face, but there was a note in his voice that could best be described as disgusted. "If you were not always so unspeakably drunk and behaving so repugnantly, you would have it so much easier." Enjolras sighed.  
"Oh, now the great Enjolras wants to honor me with his wisdom?" The sarcasm dripped literally from each letter and he looked at Enjolras now with unconcealed aggressiveness. He just shaked his head and said, "You're drunk Grantaire. Go home! "Then he turned and disappeared through the door inside the house.  
  
Grantaire was left alone in the street. The cynical expression that was just so cheeky left his face and he hung his head. Yve could not interpret what was going on in him. He took another sip from the bottle and then kicked the pavement with a furious exclamation. "Well done R! You did it again! Merde! "Again his boot hit the pavement, this time weaker, but still he swayed noticeably. He also seemed to have drunk a lot, but Yvette was amazed at how steadfast he was anyway. He didn't seem to drink for the first time, and according to Monsieur Enjolra's statement, it made it seem that he was a lout drunkard.  
  


As Yvette studied the lonely gentleman on the street, she suddenly felt a tingling and itching in her nose. She was startled and rubbed her nose to stop the inevitable. She did not want to be discovered. She wanted to wait until the Man disappeared and then go home. But fate probably wanted it differently. The itching of her nose was getting worse and the upcoming seemed  unavoidable . Yvette pressed both hands to her face as she let out the sneeze, hoping that no one had heard her. But of course it was not like that.

The gentleman, who had just stared in frustration at his boot tips, sprang around in shock. "Who's there?" He asked into the shadows of the opposite front of the house. Yve could see he was squinting to see something in the shadows. She crouched even more and was glad for her dark brown coat, which barely stood out in the shadows. But the Man was curious and his drunken recklessness drove him forward. He wanted to see who or what was hiding there, notwithstanding the fact that it might as well be a mugger trying to lure him into the shadows.

He was getting closer and Yve was baffled. What would he do if he discovered her?  
"Hello?" He asked again as he stepped into the shadows himself. Yve held her breath, hoping he would not see her and disappear quickly again. But when his eyes got used to the darkness, he spotted her and took a step towards her.  
  
"Who are you?" He asked as he looked down at the hunched figure on the ground. There was a tense caution in his voice, as if he expected every moment that the figure would jump open and attack him. This approach was often executed by the gutters and raiders who lured with pity and then slammed it with all their might. She did not answer. What should she said? That she was a drunken, penniless girl who was alone in Paris on a winter's night?

  
After receiving no answer, he took another step closer to her. Now he was only an arm's breadth away from her. He crouched down to better examine the huddled figure. She turned away her face: "Go away!" Her counterpart seemed puzzled. He probably did not expect to be so harshly dismissed. "What are you doing here, mademoiselle?" He asked, his voice softening noticeably. He didn't seem to think that she was a thief who wanted on his money using dirty tricks. But she even didn't want to talk to him. He should disappear and leave her alone with her misery: "What does that concern you? Leave me alone! "She snapped at him so harshly that she already felt a little sorry in the next moment. He no longer answered, but rose, took a few steps and sat with his back to the cold wall of the building. After nothing happened for a few minutes besides Yve who listened tensely to the hiss of her own breath, the man began to talk again: "A beautiful night." She glanced over at him and saw that he had tilted his head back and looked up at the stars. In this icy night the sky was clear and the stars were to be seen in their full glory.  
"If only one could capture the beauty of the stars. I would paint a picture of her luster. "He sighed deeply. She followed his example and looked up at the cloudless sky and the stars shining there. He was right. Their beauty could not be put into words, nor could she imagine that they would ever have been banished onto a piece of paper. At the sight, she also let out a deep sigh. The gentleman next to her had to grin when he noticed that and turned to her again.  
  
  
"So, Mademoiselle, don’t you want to tell me your name?" His warm breath hit her face and he smelt of stale wine. Involuntarily, she wrinkled her nose, though her breath probably did not smell much better. "Yvette. Yvette Perrin. And your name is Grantaire? “ It was the first time she looked him straight in the face. When she said his name, he looked a little baffled, but smiled involuntarily. "How long have Mademoiselle been sitting here?" He asked, assuming that she must have followed the whole drama. Yve sighed, "A while. I forgot the time." She narrowed her eyes as her head was struck by a stinging pain and raised her hands to massage her temples. That damn wine. As she moved, she knocked over the empty bottle that stood beside her and she rolled away a few steps. Grantaire stopped the rolling bottle with his foot and reached for it. With narrowed eyes he read the dirty, bleached label and uttered a disgusted sound.   


"Uaarggh. How can you drink such a mangy swill? No wonder the head hurts you. That's the purest devil stuff. " In an effort not to move her head too quickly, she tilted it and looked at the gentleman across. "And what do you drink? Better wine, I suppose, "she mocked. He silently handed her the bottle, which she could barely hold with her stiff, frozen fingers. She smelled it and found that this wine smelled by a mile sweeter than the one who caused her such headaches. Grantaire looked up into the sky again, seeming to be lost in his thoughts. There was a peaceful expression on his face that did not hide the lines of worry, grief, and disappointment.

The bottle still in her hand, she resisted to drink from it, because  The pain in  her head already returned. She was about to turn off the bottle and thankfully refuse, as the bottle slipped out of her numb fingers and shattered on the floor. Startled, she looked at the puddle on the ground and then at the gentleman. She expected him to get angry, beat her, or, in compensation, take the last of her money. But nothing like that happened. It seemed as if Grantaire had not noticed the puddle that formed around the broken glass. Was he thinking of how to punish her, would he yell at her, even kick her? But his eyes were still fixed on the sky and he made no effort to move.

She tried to get up, but her stiff, frozen limbs and greasy mind bugged her. At the first jerky motion, her knees buckled and she slumped back to the ground.  Her head seemed again to ride the carousel, everything turned and she felt a stabbing pain! She became sick. But she had to do something.   
She tried to get up again. This time she fell forward and tried to slow down the fall with her hands. She reached into one of the shards of glass with her left hand and screamed.

It was only through their outcry that the Man was torn from his thoughts and turned his head towards her. Now he would be upset, but he grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her back. A large shard stuck in her palm and she immediately began to bleed. The blood dripped onto the pavement and mingled with the dark wine. Yve bit her lip and pulled the shard out of her skin.  
It hurt terribly and the nausea became stronger. Grantaire who still held her back with one hand on the shoulders, to prevent her from falling on the pavement again, untied his anyway loosely fluttering neckerchief and handed it to her. Yvette slumped back against the stone wall and looked at Grantaire with silent gratitude. As she wrapped the cloth around her palm, the aquamarine fabric immediately turned dark, where the blood permeated it.

Suddenly Yvette ran through an unbearable spasm and her entire innards seemed to knot. She managed to bend sideways as she vomited a large surge. Now she was shaking all over and the tears came to her eyes. Whether it was her misery or her crying with shame, she couldn’t tell. What was certain, however, was that she did not feel the slightest inclination to turn back to the gentleman next to her, who looked at her anxiously, but did not approach her any further.

She was just about to open her mouth to say something, when her body was struck again by a spasmodic choking and a splash of shelled wine landed on the pavement. She had to choke three more times until her stomach was completely empty and the nausea had subsided. She felt awful and wanted to die of shame. Then a hand moved into her field of vision, which held a handkerchief, which she gratefully grabbed to clean her face. After she had calmed down a bit and the tremor had subsided almost completely, she turned to Grantaire, but hid her face in her hands. She was afraid of what he would say. At first she had broken his bottle, spilled his wine and now also vomited into the street next to him. That was a very rude behavior and an imposition on top of that.

"You must forgive me, monsieur. I must have ... ruined my stomach. "She squinted between her fingers, expecting to see an angry face. But against all expectations, the young gentleman grinned boldly next to her. "You spoiled your stomach with too much bad wine, my dear." He laughed and she looked at him dumbfounded. When he saw her gaze, his grin widened. "What are you looking so flabbergasted. When it comes to good wine I can sing you a song about it. First it let taste you its sweet nectar and then it lets you suffer for his love. An unfair relationship that I myself have been caring for too long. But what should I say. As painful as the price is, its love is worth it. " His eyes darkened and his smile faded as he spoke. She was not sure if he meant the wine exclusively. Then he shook his head, the dark curls dancing happily up and down and the gloom disappeared from his face.  
  
He rose slowly and reached for her hand. "Stand up. Otherwise, your skirt will be soaked in wine. " She looked around and saw the two puddles on the ground. The pool of wine, blood, and shards was small, but the vomit was already making its way through the cracks in the cobblestones towards her skirt hem. When Yve grabbed his hand and allowed herself to be pulled on her feet, he too struggled with his own balance. His hand was warm despite the chilly November night and then unexpected comfortably soft. That surprised her so much that she withdrew her hand as soon as she was reasonably safe on his feet.  
She looked around and tried to orient herself, but at night the alleys of Paris were one and the same, and she realized that although she had lived in this city since childhood, she had no idea where she was at the moment. Pondering, she came to the conclusion that she only had to find back to the Seine. From there she would find home again.

"Excuse me, sir, in what direction do I get to the Seine?" Grantaire looked at her in astonishment and then pointed his finger along the road from which she entered earlier. Yve turned and started to leave, though that "walking" was more of a mix of shuffling and wavering and probably not a handsome sight. "Au Revoir, Monsieur Grantaire!" Now understood Grantaire what she was up to. He ran after her and grabbed her arm. Startled, she turned around. "How far do you have to go?" Grantaire asked politely, but one saw that he was a little worried too.   
Yve frowned, "I'm not sure, but once I get to the Seine, I'll find home."  
Grantaire sighed, "That does not sound very good and I have to tell you that the idea of letting you wander through Paris alone does not suit me. Especially not in your present condition. " 

Yvette was surprised. "What does it matter to you, monsieur, what happens to me? You have nothing to do with me! " Again she scold herself inwardly for her sassy mouth and regretted that she was so rude the helpful young gentleman. He grinned again. "Mademoiselle, even though I have nothing to do with you, I know only too well how unreasonable it is to be alone in a city like this at moments like this. Wait a moment. "He turned and disappeared into the tavern.Yve tried to think straight. What was he doing? Should she leave now? Was it wise to associate with a likewise drunken gentleman? But he seemed far more clearly in mind than herself. But were his intentions honest? Her thoughts drifted away, and in her mind's eye she studied the young man again. His dark curls bobbing cheerfully around his head, the stubbly face, still reflecting clear eyes and the mouth of so many emotions despite the undue enjoyment of alcohol. She sympathized with him in an inexplicable way, which did not mean he had respectable intentions. But whether she went into his care or went on an odyssey through nocturnal Paris alone, both could come to a bad end in one way or another.  
  
"Mademoiselle?" His voice came suddenly behind her, tearing her out of her thoughts. She turned and examined him again. Now he had put on an anthracite-colored coat, on whose collar also one of these round badges resplendent. She resolved to ask him about it, but now another question burned on her soul.  
"Monsieur Grantaire, what are you planning to do?" She looked directly at him to read the answer in his face, but his mine looked honest as he answered:  
"Be assured, Mademoiselle Perrin, I have no reprehensible intentions concerning you." There was a trace of irony in his form of address, with a small smile flickering over her lips.  
"Mademoiselle Perrin was my mother. Please, call me Yvette or Yve. "  
  
Grantaire nodded, "All right, Mademoiselle Yve, my apartment is just a few blocks away and I would offer you a bed and decently treat your injured hand. However, if that does not please you, I will gladly bring you to your house. The main thing is, you do not walk halfway through the city alone. "He looked at her in anticipation of an answer.  
  
"I do not want to burden you unnecessarily. You've been trying hard enough for me ... "she said, unable to make a decision.  
"Good Mademoiselle, let's take a few steps. The direction is the same anyway and you can still decide on the way. " With these words he offered her his arm and she gratefully took him.

As they walked slowly into the night, arm in arm and supporting each other in walking, it was hard to believe that two completely different souls were clinging to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear reader, this is the first proper chapter.  
> I originally wrote it in German and now translate it into English.  
> You can find the original here: https://www.fanfiktion.de/s/52b3515d000381d51b445703/1/Ein-unbedeutendes-Leben  
> Note: Except for my OCs, I do not own any of the characters

**Author's Note:**

> You can find the original here: https://www.fanfiktion.de/s/52b3515d000381d51b445703/1/Ein-unbedeutendes-Leben  
> Also you can find me on tumblr: itsrevolutionarythought  
> Note: Except for my OCs, I do not own any of the characters


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